


Surely we are brave?

by id_ten_it



Series: The golden journey [3]
Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, British Character, British Military, Demisexuality, F/M, Genderfluid Character, M/M, Writing for therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-09-28 01:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17173346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/id_ten_it/pseuds/id_ten_it
Summary: Apparently the best way to catch a Simon is to by turns ignore and shoot him. Letting him buy you a drink doesn't hurt either.The unasked-for initial step of a third part of this series (no need to read the first two first). Posting to keep myself accountable.





	1. Murphy's Law of Combat #15: If it was risky, it worked and no one got hurt: you were brilliant

 “Whaddya wanna take leave for? You’ve just had two months.”  
“I know. I just want a weekend.”  
John regards his favourite junior officer doubtfully, “This isn’t so you can get dragged back here by the MPs is it?”  
Riley has the audacity to roll his eyes as he shakes his head, “not at all. If you must know, Kath and Becca are having a girl’s weekend. Simone’s been invited.”  
John’s face freezes, as if he’s checking for where he may have misstepped. There’s no guidelines on how to treat your colleague-cum-fuck buddy-cum-newest officer-cum-gender queer soldier-cum-all-round stunning woman. They’re making it up, running full tilt at the problem like it’s an ambush. Occasionally working around the edges of it like it’s an enemy camp. Mostly just muddling through like it’s another muddy track in the Beacons. Si laughs in his face, “go on. We aren’t going anywhere, we’re rostered on break, I just wanna go to London.”  
“Have I told you lately that you’re a bastard?” John clicks ‘approve’ and signs off the request.  
“Not since lunch.” Wriggling filthy fingers at his superior officer, Riley grins cheekily and bounces out towards the ablutions. He’s still grinning when he nearly bounces into Ewan.

Ewan the sniper. Ewan the man who has only one friend. Ewan the self-contained. Ewan’s had a lot of nicknames over the years and none of them have stuck. Right now the boys are calling him Albatross, which has a certain acknowledgement of poetic justice to it. So far, Albatross hasn’t punched anyone for using it. So far, nobody has used it to his face. The man who called Ewan ‘weirdo’ had been calmly laid out cold by the unit’s least physical man. Riley was glad that so far he hadn’t called him anything but Ewan, or a call sign.  
“Ewan! Sorry mate.” Greywacke eyes blink, soften slightly. Neither of them has forgotten Ewan shooting Si, but they’ve not talked about it since that first visit to medical. Si’s been shot so many times before that he can honestly say it isn’t that big a deal. He’s had worse injuries getting out of bed, or at least that’s what he’s told Ewan. The time he rolled out of bed and landed on shards of glass – some as big as his thumb – had been explained away as bad dreams. He and John don’t exactly hide their fucking, but Riley doesn’t bandy around lewd stories just for the hell of it. Especially not to men he finds enchanting.

  
“In a hurry?” Si skids to a stop. Ewan hasn’t really talked to him since his third visit to the ward and he hadn’t expected Ewan to start now. Si turns, that greywacke gaze hitting him again. “A little.” Si swallows thickly, holding up his filthy hands and gesturing at an oozing cut across his knee, visible through torn pants, “going to get cleaned up before dinner.” Shifting his knee so much causes it to ooze some more and he rips off some more of his pants to shove on top of the cut. Ewan looks mildly concerned. “That’s probably a good idea.”  
“I thought so!” Si grins, brilliantly, looking up through hair that’s got overly-long _again_ and is insisting on falling into his eyes. “Wouldn’t do to upset the chef.”  
“I think he’s been doing a good job recently.” Ewan remarks mildly. As if sensing that Si is torn between needing to not bleed on their corridor, and wanting Ewan to keep talking, he adds, “want me to patch it up?” and nods at the perfect hash Si has made of attempting to stem the bleeding.  
“That might be a good idea.” Si agrees, following Ewan to his room and propping his shoes up outside Ewan’s door as if he does this every day.

“They finally changed suppliers, you see.” Ewan remarks, apropos of nothing, as Si strips off his pants and sits on a towel on Ewan’s bed. “Huh?” Not Si’s smoothest remark. In his defence, he’s dropping cloth and bits of bandage into a little pile on a plastic bag Ewan’s passed him. If Si was this careful in his room, he wouldn’t have to spend every Sunday morning grumbling at the vacuum cleaner and convincing it to work again.  
“The catering company. They finally changed suppliers and the new ones have much better food. They don’t over charge as much, either.” Ewan washes his hands and starts laying out the first aid kit, a nearly identical copy to the one Si keeps in his own room. They all have something very like this, under their basins, ready to deal with whatever small issues crop up. Si nods like he understands and then realises his companion must be talking about the chef, and tentatively offers “that would explain a lot then” before settling back onto his elbows so Ewan can see the damage.  
“That’s exactly what I said.” Ewan remarks drily, turning on the lamp and settling over Si’s torn up thigh. His shoulders sag slightly and Si looks away, ashamed and confused, and so misses the look that Ewan gives him.

“There. I guess the doctor would say to stay off it for a few days but we both know that isn’t going to happen.” Ewan’s gaze was cool and assessing again and Si itched a little under it. This was the longest he’d had alone with the sniper and it felt rather as though Ewan was treating him like a target. Almost as though he…expected Si to do something. To pick up on something. He hadn’t been this discomforted since the night his hood was ripped off him during the start of their conduct after capture training and he found himself staring into the hard eyes of three men who knew they could break him if they could only find out how. His usual laugh sounded a little forced to his ears, “you’re not wrong there.” He admitted.  
“At least we have the weekend off.” Ewan half-smiled, packing up the first aid kit as Si pulled his pants back on, apparently not noticing the intrigued bulge. It was probably the thing causing Reilly all that discomfit. Ewan hadn’t seen him that unsettled since he departed for Officer training. Si nodded, “yeah. I was just talking with the boss about that actually.”  
“Oh? Making plans?”  
“Actually yeah. Got invited down to London.” Si glanced up, meeting Ewan’s gaze in the mirror and looking a bit bashful, “Mrs Roach is doing a thing.”  
“I didn’t know you knew her.”  
“Oh yeah. She’s much too good for him, of course. She’s stunning and funny and smart.”  
“Sounds like the whole package.” Ewan remarked neutrally.  
“She is.” Si’s smile lit up the room and Ewan, one hip against the basin now, raised one eyebrow an eighth of an inch. “Roach’s whole package” the man on the bed hastened to add, “and he’s done bloody well. If she had a sister I’d be in like a shot.” Ewan lowered the eyebrow again. “I don’t steal a mate’s girl. That’s below the line shit that is. Bloody pussy’s do that. Roach knows he’s got nothing to worry about leaving the two of us alone together. She’s too wrapped up in him and she isn’t interested.”  
“Even though you’re an Officer, and you’re hotter than he is?” Ewan looked surprised at the admission, shifting awkwardly against his perch and then moving to the chair in front of his metal desk. “She doesn’t really care about work so long as he gets back safely. And I’m not hotter, just…different. Well, depending on how you like your men. I guess she doesn’t like hers too tall or too dark.” He bared his teeth, “or too…undomesticated.”  
“Undomesticated?” Ewan sounded almost as though he was holding back a laugh.  
“Undomesticated. You know. Roach puts the toilet seat down, knows how to talk to people, when to stand for someone on a bus, how to cook more than a BBQ, those sorts of things.”  
“Most women like a man who can do those sorts of things.” Ewan sounded almost regretful.  
“Yeah, well, I guess that’s why I don’t have a specific woman in my life.” Wriggling slightly further into the bed, Si tightened his canvas belt and patted the metal clasp before regarding his tattered thigh regretfully. “But she’ll make sure this doesn’t get any worse. Thanks again.” His muscles had seized up as he lay in the cool room that Ewan seemed to keep like an olden day monk, and it took a bit of manoeuvring to get upright again. “Can I buy you a beer?”  
“Not tonight. Got to teach in the morning.”  
“I wasn’t suggesting a big night.”  
“I know.” Ewan rested his left elbow on the desk, his fine-boned right hand on the forearm, “when you get back, I’ll remind you.”  
“Cheers.” Si thought he hid his surprise well, changing into appropriate clothes before hunting down food. He didn’t realise that his helper needed the night to prepare against spending the next day doing little but talking and engaging in conversation, and would retire to bed early the next night more exhausted from that than running 25 miles over difficult terrain whilst dodging enemy fire.

***

“How about that drink tonight?” Si keeps his voice calm, unperturbed, as he stands behind Ewan in the queue for the slide. Apparently it’s calm enough, because the man in question merely nods and steps forward, placing plate, glass, mug, and cutlery in their respective bins with military precision. Si hastens to follow suit, making a good attempt but hampered by the bandage on his left palm and a lingering ache in his lower ribs. Nevertheless, he catches up with his quarry by the door. Ewan’s stare is a little unnerving, this close up. Si swallows reflexively but doesn’t back down. “What does the other guy look like?” the sniper quips, eyes drilling into Si’s.  
“It’s mascara.” After a moment, when Ewan’s eyebrows have remained stable, Si continues. “Put on too much because I was out of eyelash glue, and it and the new eyeliner, and my old makeup wipes had an argument.” His eyebrows come together, aggressively, expecting a scathing retort. He feels a bit cheated, in fact, when Ewan merely nods and confirms he’ll meet Si at the bar.

This was not how it was supposed to go.

 

This is how Si thinks it should go:

_They meet at the bar, and Si buys two drinks – whatever Ewan is having and a full-bodied red for himself. (In his mind he skips over the difficulty of buying a full-bodied red wine at their military style bar.) They sit in one of the quieter corners, and Ewan takes the seat which turns him away from most of the crowd; Si knows Ewan will concentrate better this way and he hopes Ewan trusts him enough to let him glare at anybody getting too close. Si hopes Ewan’s spotter will heed that glare, too._

_So they are settled, in Si’s dream, in the quiet corner with their drinks, without any interruptions. At this point, Si’s heart picks up slightly and he imagines himself taking a sip of wine, feeling the full flavours spread towards his molars and the warmth of the drink, of the alcohol, flow down his throat. He puts down his glass and turns his gaze up – through his lashes – to Ewan. Ewan’s greywacke eyes will be looking back at him, his glass also tasted now, and he will give Si a fond look. It isn’t a smile, so much, more a compression at one corner of the mouth where a smile would be if it got fully formed. “Thank you.” Si will murmur, and then lean forward slightly, “I know you don’t really do small talk outside of work.” He will apologise, “but I feel like maybe we’re getting to be friends and if that’s the case then I’d like to tell you something.”  
Ewan will sip his drink. _

_Usually at this point Si imagines him nodding sagely or murmuring “just this once”. If Si is feeling particularly lucky then Ewan will reassure him instead, “we are friends, of course. What do you want to say?”_

_Then, Si will gulp and exhale and lean forward a bit more, clearly conspiring with only one other man and shutting everyone else out. He’ll inhale slowly through his nose as he moves, and by the time he goes to speak he is in place and ready. “I’m gender fluid” he will say, and Ewan will know what this means and nod, one eyebrow raised invitingly like this isn’t a big deal but he’s interested in details. “When I’m in London I can be whoever I want, however I want. This last weekend, Mrs Roach and John’s Kath and me had a girlie weekend. We went to like four different spas. Here.” And he shows Ewan a photo of the three girls, Becca and Kath and Simone, and their three hairstyles and their three mani-pedis and their three facials and their three just-massaged relaxed postures. And Ewan takes his phone and his eyes go wide and he looks between Simone and Si a couple times and smiles with a full half of his lips, and says, “I can see the resemblance. You’re stunning. Gorgeous.” Then he offers Si his phone back, without even looking really at Becca and Kath, and returns his gaze to Si’s face. There’s something a bit like longing in his gaze, Si can see it, but this moment is just allowed to stretch like Simone at yoga, before Ewan rests a hand on his knee and squeezes lightly. “Stunning.” He repeats, before frowning slightly, “is it a secret?”_

_At this point in his imaginings, Si can’t decide if he prefers it when Ewan is fuelled with rage and frustration against all the bigots, or when Ewan is gentle and understanding and tells him it will all be alright in the end. Both images are safe and enticing. It’s usually while he’s tossing up between the two that he falls asleep._

Despite Si’s most vivid imaginings, the way it actually goes is quite different to anything he had imagined before.

They meet in the bar, and Ewan has his slim tapered fingers around a sherry glass. Riley didn’t even know they stocked sherry. He gets himself a red, which is somehow less bizarre than the sherry, and heads over to Ewan. “I’m supposed to be buying you a ‘thank you’ for my leg.” He greets, and Ewan swallows a smile and sips his sherry. “I needed a drink.” The Welshman admits, “but you can buy me another.” They end up propped to one side of the bar, Ewan with his back to the wall watching everything, a little distracted until he is comfortable that he knows everyone. For their third drink, they are finally sitting in a quiet corner, but they have found food by this stage and are silent for precious minutes while they eat. Si doesn’t want to interrupt Ewan and Ewan seems more than happy to rest his suede shoes next to Si’s loafers and tuck into…whatever fresh hell they have been given. Si fetches coffee to wash away the taste, then has to go back and make a green tea when Ewan admits that he is terribly caffeine sensitive and will be unable to sleep and unable to work until it’s left his system. Finally, they are in a quiet corner and ready to talk.

Si takes a gulp of his coffee and relishes the burn, preparing himself to explain his panda-marking eyes properly, when Ewan places his cup down with barely a noise and says very quietly, “I’m demi-sexual.”  
“Oh?” Si splutters, then, “oh.” He frowns for a moment, “are you a virgin? Oh fuck. Shit.” He feels like he does when he has to swim, like there’s a vice around his hands that he can’t escape from. “Sorry. That’s none of my fucking business. I just…. wondered if it makes having physical relationships difficult. Ignore me. That’s…. I assume Greg knows?”  
Ewan actually looks amused at Simon’s floundering attempt to say the right thing, taking a sip of tea and nodding to show that yes, his spotter-slash-friend does in fact know this piece of private information. By the time Ewan has finished a second mouthful of tea and is ready to speak, his companion has mostly subsided into blushing apologies for his first reaction.

“It’s a very common reaction.” Ewan soothes him, “I suppose compared to your impressive track record it would seem a hindrance, but I don’t know any different so to me it’s normal. I can appreciate someone physically without wanting to sleep with them, which is good when you spend a lot of time looking at different people I suppose. It does make it difficult when we’re busy since I can’t just go off and start an intimate relationship with someone, which in my case means I don’t sleep with anyone either.”  
“I’m not a slut.” Simon blurts out, “I just…like fucking.”  
“I gathered.”  
“Good. Right then. So…I haven’t actually met anyone who identifies as demi-sexual before. That seemed a pretty neat summary.”  
“I give it a fair bit.”  
“I can tell!” Si pauses again, running through everything he has learnt. “Do you get lonely?”  
“Everyone gets lonely, Si.”  
“I mean…well…when I get lonely, I go and have a fuck and a cuddle and it’s not so bad. What do you do when you get lonely?”  
“Fish, mostly. Run. Go and do something just for me. It’s hard to miss people when you don’t need them in the first place.” There’s something gentle and sad in Ewan’s gaze as he murmurs, “maybe one day that will help you too.” It’s like he can’t imagine _needing_ someone else in his life. A little bit of hope in Si’s chest withers away.  
“Maybe.” He tries to smile, and sips another sip of coffee. It’s getting cold now. Grey eyes watch for a long while, before Ewan mirrors his actions. There’s a comfortable silence and Si begins to think he can salvage the evening, can still tell Ewan a few more things. Not big things, obviously, not ‘I want to sleep with you’ or ‘when you smile at me, I want to follow you around forever’, because perhaps now some of those are off limits, but he still wants to tell Ewan the truth.

“So if we were ever to try and do anything, that would probably be a big problem.”

There’s a pause.

Riley has an awful thought that base is under attack. All he can hear is rushing noise, like when the windows on a building blow in.

Simon gasps a bit for breath, feeling his body physically react to the shock. ‘Breathe’ he tells himself.

Ewan quirks his lip and waits, as though nothing is wrong.

The pause drags out, existing just between them. It lingers. ‘Breathe’ Simon’s brain tells him, and he gasps again.

“Pardon?”

“If you and I decided to act on these feelings, your current pattern of fucking and moving on, and my pattern of building an intellectual and emotional attachment before entering a long-term physical relationship. That would be a big cause of friction, I think.”

“It…It wouldn’t necessarily be the only cause of friction.” Si gasps, “I actually…. look. This isn’t how I was expecting to tell you. Or…fuck! I didn’t…. shit, Ewan, I thought I was making this up.” He’s realised Ewan’s calm demeaner is just a façade and the man is actually nervous. “I want to try. I’m super into you and you’re a fine man. I want to try. But I have to tell you something first.”

Ewan’s posture relaxes slightly, gesturing for his companion to go ahead. It takes a while for Riley to get the balls to say what he wants to say.

“I’m gender-fluid” he blurts out, “that’s why the eye makeup. Me and Mrs Roach and John’s girl Kath did a girlie weekend this weekend. Here” He thrusts the picture on his phone at Ewan, fumbling and nearly dropping it, fingers trembling.  
“What’s her name?” Ewan asks, easily taking the phone and looking at the three of them for a long moment before blinking up at the man in front of him.  
“Simone.” Riley blushes, rubbing his side, “she tried a waist trainer. It’s bloody sore.”  
“She looks stunning.” Ewan murmurs, “I think she’d look stunning without one too” and his piercing eyes seem to actually measure Simon’s waist where he sits. Simon blushes, he can’t help it. “I’ll show you one day. When…. when you tell me you’re ready for something physical. There’s no fucken’ way I’m pissing around with anyone else if I’m in a relationship with you.”  
Ewan’s eyes go wide, and soft, and he smiles a heart-melting smile. “I’m free on Wednesday night. Let’s do dinner somewhere then, just us two. Hash this out.”  
“Perfect” Si agrees, and even though it’s nothing like he imagined, he falls asleep that night with a happy bubble of hope in his chest.


	2. Murphy's Law of Combat #36: The easy way is always mined

***

“What’ch’ya reading?” Si tangles and untangles his legs on the bed, glancing up from behind his laptop. Ewan likes to spend time reading quietly. Si isn’t that into reading but he does subscribe to a lot of forums. “Book on Isambard Kingdom Brunel” The warm tea soaks down Ewan’s throat. There’s no more noise outside Si’s tapping of keys and the pages slowly turning on Ewan’s book. When his cup is finished, Ewan looks over at the lean tangle of limbs on his bed and smiles fondly. “Did you know the original railway builders budgeted for their men to die?”  
“Eh?”  
“A man a mile. They built the widow’s benefits into their accounts.”  
“Kinda like us”  
“Mmm. I suppose. Perhaps we aren’t as scientifically measured.”  
“I guess like telling us to do flag photos and DNA swabs.”  
“Or collect our semen.” Ewan had found that particularly poignant; perhaps because he was so young at the time, perhaps because he was his parent’s only hope of genetic grandchildren. His brother had fairly given up on the idea of children after his own complete transition into Ewan’s brother.  
“Or collect our semen.” From the gusty sigh Si probably had found it poignant too.  
“Mhm.”  
Silence.

  
“I, er, I didn’t. Do a deposit.”  
“You didn’t?” Si smiles a smile that makes him look like a shy boy and his partner comes across to the bed, stroking back his hair and settling next to him. “Why not?” Si, usually so rough and out-at-the-elbows is now pliant in Ewan’s arms. His dark hair lies across Ewan’s arm like a premonition of violence. “I…I didn’t see the point. I don’t see the point. If I get my dick blown off the chances of anyone wanting to have kids with me is pretty damn slim. I can’t imagine going up to some chick and giving her a vial and a turkey baster.” Ewan chuckles, but tightens his arms around his proud bantam-weight. Gentler than a woobie encasing a rescued man, he whispers, “I think you’d be a great father. And it wouldn’t matter to me if your dick got blown off. Not really.”  
“It’d matter to me. Wanna fuck you.” But Simon’s sulky voice is mostly hidden in his partner’s shoulder now, and his breathing is slow and gentle again. “Not just...but…y’know. It’d be nice to.”  
“I know.” Ewan soothes, reaching behind him and scrabbling in his bag for the woobie he picked up on a course in America. “I’m flattered.”

The two of them are under a proper blanket when Si broaches the topic again. “When Keyes came up, I had to tell him about it. He hasn’t done an op before. He’s bloody good, course, he’ll be a great operator but…fuck me. Have you had to tell an 18-year-old that in a year’s time he might have nothing below the waist? He’s a bloody virgin and I’m sitting there telling him he mightn’t have a cock. Bad enough telling him to write a will, at least he isn’t there to deal with the aftermath. And I know sex isn’t everything, I know it isn’t the bloody Holy Grail but the kid deserves to try it before he bottles it all up. Shit’s fucked.” Nuzzling into Ewan’s bicep he mumbles, “don’t tell you this shit on course.” Ewan has no idea what to say so he doesn’t say anything. “Don’t tell you this shit when you join up, neither. Who’d fucken’ join up knowing they might get their dick blown off?” Ewan scrapes his fingers through his partner’s dark hair and Si laughs weakly. They pretend not to notice how damp Ewan’s sleeve is getting. “Apart from me. Bloody hell. Sounded like a good bloody idea at the time. No need to wait around for an op, y’know? Just…get some fake legs and chest implants and away she goes.” Ewan gulps. Riley sits up, furious. “Doesn’t that worry you? It sure as hell worries me! Aren’t you terrified this won’t last? We’ve got nothing in common! Nothing outside of work and even that’s just an accident in accommodation. You’re all…you. And I’m so, I’m so _me_ and I hate it!”

“Hush. Sh-sh. C’mon.” the sniper swallows back tears and frustrations, reaching for Si. “Ouch! There’s no need to hit me!”  
“Fuck off!”

Ewan silently closes the door behind Si’s retreating back, washing his hands and face, lying on the bed with his eyes closed until it’s time to get up.

***

It’s three weeks later when work draws them apart again. First, Ewan gets asked to trial the new weapons they’re thinking about buying, and is sent to Germany. Then, two days after he is left, Simon is slated for a mission. He tells Ewan on a phone call, unable to explain details but able to intimate the location and when he’ll be back.

He promises to be back in one piece.

“It’s alright” Ewan whispers, sounding soothing and understanding, “just promise me that if you can’t be safe, be deadly.” He sounds vaguely amused at the end. Si chuckles weakly and nods.

Simone comes on the line afterwards, and Ewan comforts her too and she sends him a kiss for luck that ends in a sigh. She also hates it when Simon goes on missions.

Ewan masturbates that night for the first time in a very long time.

Ewan’s flight back passes Riley’s flight out, but 5000’ lower, and when he gets back Greg and Ewan argue pointlessly about firing pins until Ewan realises what is happening and takes himself for a run.

He falls asleep that night remembering the long conversation they had a month ago, remembering the feeling of Simone, fierce and determined, pressing against him, of Simon terrified and cagey, forcing himself to try and communicate with Ewan. He remembers listening to all the terror and anguish the two carry around with them, and crying for them, for his sister, for himself. They’d fallen asleep holding hands that night; too drained for even Simon to cuddle they’d whispered their feelings into the dark like children do. Ewan dreams of men in dresses and women in rugby shorts, and wakes remembering none of it.


	3. Murphy's Law of Combat #78: If you really need an officer in a hurry, take a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I read one article that touched on Pakistan (Bar-Maoz, Moria. “On Religion and the Politics of Security: How Religion’s Involvement in Domestic Politics Affects National Securitymaking.” Review of Faith and International Affairs 16, no. 2 (2018): 36–49.) but with everything going on in the news right now it seemed an obvious option.

_“Off we fuck!” Ghost chirrups, double-checking his harness._  
_“Good to go” the jump master confirms, getting them lined up. It’s the worst way to come in, nearly, but it’s faster than a jingle-truck which was their other option. Ghost bloody hates sand._  
_“Off we fuck!” Ghost shouts, running out the door with the others into a dark freezing sky. Every time he jumps, his Mam’s voice comes back to him. No matter what, you can always look up and talk to Da. He’ll always be there for you. Ghost firmly believes that some broken child on the ground is looking up asking their own Da to fix it. Ghost intends to fix that child’s problem. It’s entirely possible he has spent too much time looking at American memes, but he doesn’t think so. He bares his teeth and embraces the cold. Off he fucks._

***

“Pakistan.” Their mission briefing officer had begun, “the only reason people don’t care about it in the news is because Afghanistan has been a problem in the UK since, oh, the last 200 years or so.” He waved a hand in an ironic gesture, intoned, “The Graveyard of Empires”, acknowledged the wry smiles, and continued, “Highly porous border, and a strong record of using and utilising vessels for smuggling out drugs and smuggling in arms and supplies to terrorist organisations. I say smuggling, but moving would be a better word; there are plenty of bribes paid and plenty of officials willing to look the other way. There’s also plenty of areas not patrolled or controlled at all. Our friends from 26/11 are not the only ones we should be worried about, and we have a new target. I don’t think any of you have been out this far from Afghan before, so I must warn you, we cannot interact with the military at all, due to their collusion with religious leaders, bent political individuals, and the links both of these have with the Taliban. We know that with the draw down in Afghan and the rising tensions with India, any excessive movement by one faction or another will lead to serious issues and could lead to troop movements and proxy wars. In Pakistan, the military, civilian groups, religious leaders, and local Imams, all impact the security of their regions and indeed the country. Never assume any of the people you are talking with are powerless. We aren’t going in there to try and assist with strategic security or democracy or any of that nonsense. We actually want you out alive, and nobody can prove that democracy is the answer here anyway.” In his own voice, he added, “it’s almost like forcing your own viewpoints on another culture is somehow not the answer.” Once they’d finished chuckling, he concluded, “the mission is merely to deny the shipment of potential NBC. American targeting says nuclear warheads, but your friendly squirrel humbly assesses chemical gas. The timing sits nicely with other attacks, and I’ve never seen anyone successfully smuggle nuclear warheads on a jingle truck…and I’ve seen a lot of jingle trucks.” Hadn’t they all? He’d done more hours staring at them through his sensors than these chaps had done patrols.

“It doesn’t matter really what it is though, cause we can’t identify you with NBC suits.” He grinned the wolfish grin his briefs were known for and said, ironically, in case any gods or devils were listening, “see you tomorrow.”

***

_The walk down to the main road is much quieter than Ghost had dared hoped for, and the three of them met up more quickly than was usual. The winds had been with them. With the road on their right shoulder, nothing more than a slight lightening of the darkness to indicate where it was, the three man patrol eked a way through._

_***_

For an 18-year-old, Keyes apparently thinks he’s about 70. He moved in properly last week and now has a sound system to raise the dead set up in his room. It’s just as well he doesn’t like hard-core death metal, John grumbled through a hangover that morning, because he’d kill them all. Keyes says it’s cause he was raised by his grandparents but Riley’s beginning to think it’s because he’s an old soul; there’s something in his eyes when he broaches the filing of his will, and going up to Hereford from his Grandmother’s, and the way sometimes Greg stalks away when someone says he should go and talk with the Padres. Whatever the reason, there’s an old song crooning down the corridor tonight, and Ewan’s half humming along out loud and half humming along in his head as they settle in for another quiet night post-dinner.

“Make believe you’re married to me”

Ewan mouths, his ancestral need to sing and his innate desire for silence warring with each other. Si pours himself a drink, kicks off his shoes, and stretches out.

“I never laid a hand on you”

Ewan continues, kissing his companion’s cheek and taking possession of the chair. Si responds with a surprised smile and a deep inhale.

“So close-“

Ewan looks up. Si looks across, uncrossing his legs and wriggling his toes in their dark merino dress socks. The slighter man closes his eyes briefly, a tell that won’t affect his aim or alert anyone to his position. “Can we have this discussion now, Si?”  
“Which one?” There’s a lot of discussions they haven’t had. They haven’t had the conversation about previous partners, or about Si’s predilection for sleeping tucked against someone, or Ewan’s Mother, or telling Greg, or…Well. There’s a lot of discussions they haven’t had.  
“The one about sex.” Ewan reflects this must seem a bit clinical, sips nervously at his drink, then perches on the bed with Si instead.  
“Sex?” Those long lashes sweep up and down and up again in apparent confusion and Ewan braces his glass against the sudden surge of movement as Si re-arranges his limbs to focus the better on his compatriot. “What bit of sex would you like to talk about?” he asks, still wriggling, and Ewan swallows the smallest of sighs. For a man who has apparently slept his way through a vast number of their support staff, Simon is oddly reluctant to talk about the finer details of the act. Ewan supposes it will fall to him. He considers his next phrase very carefully. “I think you’d probably quite like to have some.” Through a supreme force of will, he maintains eye contact with the amber liquid in his glass.  
“I would.” Si says, after he’s apparently thought through every possible answer.

“a million miles away from me”

Si’s answer hangs in the air for a while, sitting between them. Ewan swallows thickly, “how…I mean…” he shakes his head and starts again, “want me to do something?”  
“Do you want to?”  
“I want you to be happy.” _I want you to stay with me_ he thinks.

“sad regrets I know I won’t forget you”

To his everlasting credit, Si doesn’t even look interested. He is decisive. “I’m not going to ask you to do something you don’t want to receive yourself. You’re only suggesting it because you know that’s what I’m used to, right?” When Ewan nods, Si continues, his previous reticence completely gone. “I want intimacy, sure, and I want…it…with you too but only together. So long as I can hug you I don’t mind if you don’t want to do anything else for weeks and weeks. I just want to be physically intimate. That doesn’t mean sexual...I like sex but...well…” he gulps down the rest of the alcohol and mutters defiantly, “I love cuddling. Touching.”

Carefully Ewan settles closer, “I’m not usually one for touching except with a physical purpose” he reminds Si, “but I can work on that if you promise to ask for it.”  
Si nods carefully, puts down his glass, then regards Ewan gently. Seemingly coming to a decision he asks softly, “if you get your book can we cuddle now?” This seems like a nice end to a pleasant evening, Ewan decides, and they sit there on the bed with Ewan’s arm draped over Si’s shoulders and Si’s dark hair on Ewan’s neck. Ewan doesn’t even realise he’s started humming along until Si presses chaste lips against his throat and tells him it tickles. “Sorry sweetheart” he returns, without thinking, and feels Si’s happy glow like melted butter on hot crumpets.

“long as I’ve got this life I’m living/ long as it’s you, the love I’m with then/ I’ll keep on callin’ you sweetheart’

***

_Ghost doesn’t think they’re moving fast enough. According to his mental clock they have another four hours until dawn, and his legs tell him they’ve just missed their timing. Aside from them everything is still. He aches to use the road and really boost it. Instead, he keys the mic and tells them “we’re too slow. We need 15 minutes kms. Boost it.” Begrudgingly they pick up the pace. They keep it up until the man nearest him stumbles and pebbles clatter in the darkness. Ghost hears him curse and tries not to take it to heart. He doesn’t think he’s being an RPA._

***

When John finds him, Si’s right round the back of the perimeter, doing some muscle-ups and trying to look like he meant to end up here on the back of a day of fitness testing that left everyone spent despite their protestations that beating the timings was wasting energy.

“your form’s shot”  
“so’s your face.” But he drops down anyway and stretches out his traps instead. Standing alongside, joining in, Soap lets their breathing equalise.  
“Worried?”  
For a moment it looks like Ghost is going to pretend but they’ve drilled each other in honest replies so much that it’s second nature now to actually drop down to wriggle his hips and then turn to walk back towards camp with a single affirmative.  
“Just don’t be an RPA.”  
“Just ‘cause I’m recently promoted doesn’t mean I have to be an arsehole.”  
“And don’t you forget it.”

***

 _It’s a very long walk, but they make up their time and push on, Keyes – Goblin he should say – on point. “Location seen” Goblin mutters, and they fall in behind him. Ghost looks forward and down to cover the ground immediately in front of Goblin. “freeze!” he grabs Goblin’s shoulder and they teeter for a moment, on the edge of movement. Their Charlie drops to a crouch and turns away in one smooth, defensive, movement. Hardly daring to breathe, Ghost moves his lips up against Goblin’s ear and whispers, “probable IED. One step forward. Seen?”_  
_“Seen” Goblin whispers back, voice just this side of steady._  
_Ghost hopes that his thumping heart can’t actually be felt where they’re touching. “two paces back, we sweep left. Mental mark and avoid.” He knows they’d be better off doing it properly but that would potentially defeat their mission. Mind you, so would blowing them all up._


End file.
